


Saut dans le vide, my lover

by orphan_account



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Break Up, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Lovers to Friends, M/M, and coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it's Kendall, god, Kendall's made of light; light and stardust and all things magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saut dans le vide, my lover

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is apparently my way of coping with a break up that's been going on for three months now. Never date a Scottish guy, people. They'll conquer your heart with rolling r's and tartan, only to push you away in front of their doorstep clinging to their lips like a stupid, little teenager.

"See, I'm just not feeling it, you know?" As the words leave his mouth, he can see Kendall's face crumbling; disbelief painting his smile cruel, all razorsharp edges and clenched teeth. He hisses, this angry, cat-like sounds that leaves his mouth so often. Lately, he's been the cause of that sound for more than enough.  
"How?" Is all he asks, and as James doesn't answer he adds, "How can you not?"  
And yes, how can he not? It's a fair question. Because, god. Kendall and James, that's just picture perfect pink bubblegum hearts. They are basically the same person after all. When they first met, they were blown away by it. And, James admit, a bit scared. This radiant eyed, golden boy from Minnesota, trotting right into his life with a hockey stick and sarcasm and his perfect lips that were always blemished by the constant pushing of a tooth (There's this dark spot on his lip; a permanent bruise as a result of biting down too hard. He does it when he's nervous, he explained. But James knows he also does it when he's turned on. Because he made him bite down often enough.)

And god, they worked well together.

And god, they fucked even better.

He never had to tell Kendall what he wanted, he just knew. Kendall was all over him, first date onwards; all fire and flames and ember hands. He was this god-like boy, that turned golden at the touch of his fingers, under the press of his mouth. Teeth breaching skin, love bites adorning his neck; tinsel and jewelry.

Because that's Kendall. Kendall is this demi-god, this lion. The sizzling crackle of halogen lights (sometimes he's sure Kendall's blood flows neon, luminescence and hypernovae filling his bloodstream), the chemical and bright explosions of fireworks illuminating the night sky and he's so, so much warmth.

Too much warmth.

And then James fucked somebody else. After only two days of dating.

It wasn't supposed to mean something. He was young, horny and the other boy basically pushed himself onto him. And no, it wasn't the same. It was rough, and somehow clumsy. Dak was inexperienced and it was over too quickly and afterwards he felt guilt and shame burning hot in his veins.

Two weeks later he tells Kendall and it changes everything. To be honest, it was plain naive from him to even think it wouldn't change a thing.  
Because he had fucked Kendall the first time, three days before he bedded Dak. It had been his first time with a guy, and James will never forget the trust that was so clearly visible in his eyes and how his hands clinged onto James and how it felt like drowning. Drowning and smothering and there suddenly was so much warmth burning beneath his ribcage and god; it scared him shitless.

Kendall turned him into this light, this bright glow stick. Kendall bend him, almost broke him and then made him shine like never before.

And then he fucked up.

But to be honest, he always seems to.

But Kendall forgave him. Kendall actually didn't care all that much.  
And that's when it started to scare the shit out of him.

Because this golden boy, this boy, liked him for what he was.  
And that's when it shifted. The moment he realised Kendall wasn't going to leave that easily, he started treating him like shit.  
He doesn't know why. He only knows he did.  
Cancelled on dates. Threw him out of the apartment.  
Told him he isn't in love with him. (And to be honest, is he? He's never been in love. How is he ever supposed to know)

And then he breaks up. The day he breaks up, Kendall just comes back from a skiing holiday; he's all tanned and has bruises all over and all James wants to do is pull him closer and open up his mouth with his tongue. (lips trembling when he tells him it's over. Teeth biting down so hard he can see a trickle of blood painting his forced smile faintly pink. And god. He wants. He wants.) As he hugs him, it feels like his heart is shattering, guts spilling all over the place. Because Kendall starts crying. And Kendall never cries. Not even when he told him he'd fucked Zak.  
  
And before he leaves, Kendall presses his lips to James' and he needs all his willpower. All his strength, to not wrap his arms around the frail body of the smaller boy and as the smell of his perfume floods his senses and he knows, oh, he knows, this will hunt him down.

They try being friends. They really do. But every time they write there's venom and pointed knives hidden in Kendall's words. And Kendall freaks out. A lot.  
And then they stop writing.  
  


James meets this girl only three weeks later, but as far as he knows, Kendall's whoring his way through Los Angeles (nobody can blame him. Not even him. Even though he wishes it could still be him who could fuck into him. Bite his neck and look at him, all doe eyes and dirty moves.)  
She's pretty, as in really pretty. And nice.  
But then there's the sex.

She's quiet, oh so fucking quiet. As if she's scared a sound will scare him, will break this spell she undoubtedly imagines the whole act is surrounded with.

Which it isn't. Because she's not Kendall.  
There's no heat pooling beneath his ribcage, no fluttering of his heartbeat whenever their eyes meet while she rides him. There's no passion.  
And yes, okay, maybe he does miss him.  
Maybe.

Still doesn't mean he's in love with him, right?

 

Kendall starts writing again on a sunday, and suddenly, he decides to turn the whole thing to the next level. Dirty pictures and filthy words hunting each other down on James' phonescreen. And god, how he missed that body.

**I want you. I need to feel you again. Please, James, fuck me.**

This is bad. He shouldn't.

But he wants. He wants to touch Kendall's body (he's discovered it a thousand times, mapped it all out. Every freckle and every hair. Until it turned into a part of him. Kendall's body belongs to him. It's his. _Hishishishis.)_ He wants to retrace the protrusion of his collarbones; dip his tongue into the hollow of his clavicle (sweat pooling there, all salt on his lips and the taste of Kendall all over his tongue) and hide his face in the crook of Kendall's neck.

God, he wants. He wants to feel it again, the chemical heat of that boy. That lambent, perfect boy. All fizzling and crackling and incandescent and oh so much heat surrounding him.

But he tells him he's seeing someone.  
Kendall tells him to fuck off.

 

"You don't seem all that happy with her," Logan tells him, eyebrows furrowing.  
And no, maybe he doesn't seem happy, because he somehow isn't.  
But he stays silent.

 

The next time Kendall writes, it's the exact same day as she tells him she needs space. And no, he doesn't know if he should be glad, or if he should be at least a bit - even if it's only pretended - sad. He goes for a pathetic mixture of both.

And it's weird, because while he's sitting there, telling Kendall he wants him, Kendall goes out on a limp and tells him he had the best sex ever.

Including James.  
And James doesn't know why he suddenly feels jealous and hot all over and he somehow wants to punch mystery dude (A teacher. Kendall tells him how he tore his school uniform off, stuck in this play pretend. And fucked him into the mattress three times even though he could be Kendall's dad.)  
And it feels like revenge.

He doesn't want to know, but now his head is making up pictures. Pictures of Kendall bent over a desk, some hot, six-packed guy pounding into him; Kendall's face all distorted by bliss.  
He knows Kendall whored around. He told him. Another guy every week, sometimes two a week. Because it helped him forget.  
Because it helped him heal.

Except it didn't. Because there's still venom in his words and hurt colouring his actions.  
It's only when they meet again that he realises how much he actually hurt him.

And as they meet for a coffee, the sun heating up the concrete, the sunlight hits Kendall's face in this way that leaves him breathless. Because Kendall, god, Kendall's made of light; light and stardust and all things magic.  
He never understood why it shook him that hard, but fuck, now he can see it really had.

Kendall's still Kendall. Eyes still glowing neon and the razorsharp edges cutting at the corners of his mouth, but something's missing.  
There's no warmth.  
Every word that leaves Kendall's mouth is cold and distant, arsenic and belladonna in his gums.

"I thought we were going to fuck. To get it out of our systems," James inquires, his pretty face all up in Kendall's space because fuck, he wants him closer. Closer. An endless amount of closer.  
  
"Just to get it out of our systems," Kendall repeats.

Even though they both know this is only injecting them into their bloodstream again.  
But James wants that. James needs that. He needs the warm, glowing feeling of Kendall.  
Kendall. This cosmic boy that glows neon, and James knows it's impolite to describe people with celestial bodies and colours but god, Kendall is this starboy. This parching heat and brilliant radiance. Collapsing stars and cosmic dust glimmering in the void; this scintillating, lugubrious play of creating and destroying. Kendall shines every fucking colour. 

And as Kendall pushes James against the wall, knee brushing against his erection, he looks at him. Hair all golden in the dim light; this crown made out of gold and fire and dying leaves, eyes reflecting the light in a way no one else seems capable of; this intoxicating mix of shamrock, celeste and opaque. Witch cauldrons and Aurora Borealis.

"I waited so long," James tells him, almost ashamed of how desperate he sounds. And Kendall just snorts.

"You want me. You'll always want me," Kendall groans into his mouth, split-seconds before biting down and drawing blood. And yes, he will. After all, how in hell could he not?

When Kendall comes, it's with a low growl and his cock buried deep inside of James, breath fracturing and his heart beating so loud James can _feel_ it.  
"There you go," Kendall grits out, "I guess it's out of our systems now."  
  
Except it isn't.

It happens again. And again. And again. And god, Kendall turns him into this light again. He turns him neon. Whenever Kendall touches him, he turns into this vigorous, luminous and vivid play of light and colours. He turns him into art; into a play of light Kendall paints right onto his body with his bare hands. 

And fuck, that's enough for James. He still can't tell Kendall how he feels; he probably never will. He's still afraid.

But he tries to show it.

And that's enough.


End file.
